


Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Series: A Witch and His Vampire [1]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Anders is a dark witch, Blood, Blood Magic, Dark Magic, Insanity, Loss of Humanity, M/M, Mitchell is still a vampire, Rituals, Spells & Enchantments, Vampires, Violence, Witchcraft, Witches, black magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1197357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were the stuff of legend. Dark, mysterious creatures flitting about in the shadows of history’s peripheral vision throughout the ages. Some people refused to believe in them. Others knew that they were there, but ignored them; after all, if you left them alone, then they would leave you alone, right? But most people, most sensible people anyway, knew that to cross one of them was to sign your own death warrant. Not much was known about them for certain, because only those who were part of the fold were allowed to know anything about them. There were few who weren’t one of them who were allowed to know anything. They fed off of darkness, and darkness is theirs. Blood and shadow, death and secrets.</p><p>The witches keep to themselves.</p><p>…What? Did you think we were talking about vampires?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the lion's den again~! So, after many days of having to listen to Katy Perry's "Dark Horse", I had the urge to write a dark magic!au for our boys, although originally this was going to be an Aidean fic, but there are so many good Aidean magic fics out there that I decided to try it out with our crossover boys, and voila! I cannot stress it enough, this work is totally fictional, I'm not a witch and I don't know anyone who calls themself a witch or practices witchcraft, be it Wiccan or otherwise. 
> 
> As always, comments and critiques keep the lioness well fed! I hope you enjoy it, my lovelies!

They were the stuff of legend. Dark, mysterious creatures flitting about in the shadows of history’s peripheral vision throughout the ages. Some people refused to believe in them. Others knew that they were there, but ignored them; after all, if you left them alone, then they would leave you alone, right? But most people, most sensible people anyway, knew that to cross one of them was to sign your own death warrant. Not much was known about them for certain, because only those who were part of the fold were allowed to know anything about them. There were few who weren’t one of them who were allowed to know anything. They fed off of darkness, and darkness is theirs. Blood and shadow, death and secrets.

The witches keep to themselves.

…What? Did you think we were talking about vampires? 

 

* * *

 

John Mitchell had met only three witches before; most vampires who met witches didn’t live to tell the tale. They didn’t have the traditional animosity that vampires and werewolves share, but they weren’t exactly best friends, either. Witches were solitary creatures, only gathering in great covens for yearly rituals or wars among the clans. The ones he’d met had come to Herrick for aid, usually in the form of vampire soldiers for hire; most witches weren’t into field work, as it were, and hired killers to do the bloody deeds themselves. Mitchell had never killed for a witch himself, but he’d heard that there were great rewards to be had…and even greater punishments for those who failed. He never took the gamble. It wasn’t worth it. 

Now he stood before his fourth witch. The man was small, almost unassumingly so, and his blonde hair gave him a cherubic look. His smile was sly and flirtatious, his skin tanned and healthy, and his eyes were a piercing blue, bluer than the skies of his homeland. The blonde man from New Zealand had captured Mitchell’s interest from the start, but he was too blinded by curiosity (and lust) to notice that the blue in the man’s eyes was unnatural, too pale at times, too dark at others. And he always missed when the eyes turned gold, brimming with a dark, glittering power when the vampire walked away. Anders Johnson was a powerful man, a man used to getting what he wanted, no matter what method the task required.

Mitchell had fallen in love with the man in the short time he knew him. He felt he could trust Anders, and had revealed his secret after a particularly bad night, when the cravings were too much and the need was clawing at him like a caged animal. Anders had looked shocked, but had steeled himself and offered his help, getting Mitchell through the night, making him tea and holding him close and fucking him into a dull oblivion. Never did the man offer his blood, and Mitchell later found out why: a witch’s blood was powerful, giving the one who drank it a small taste of their magic, allowing them to, temporarily, share in the witch’s power. It’s one of the reasons why witches balked at associating with vampires, Anders later told him. But that was in the future. This was now. 

The vampire had moved to New Zealand with Anders, wanting a fresh start after all the drama his life in Bristol had brought him, and to protect George and his growing family from the enemies that Mitchell’s presence inevitably brought out of the woodwork. The blonde had captured the vampire’s interest with his wit and sarcasm, his way with words and his confident air. Mitchell had likewise captured the New Zealander’s eye with his good looks, his dry humor, his moments of angst mixed with heartbreakingly bright smiles and laughter. The two were a strange pair, but they fit like two pieces of a puzzle. They had settled into life in Auckland with little trouble, living together like two symbiotic beings, rarely fighting about anything major. Mitchell thought that, while he could be petulant and frustrated, Anders was all but incapable of the all-consuming rage that could take over the vampire’s black soul.

He was wrong.

It was a cold, dark day, the first in a long time in Auckland; summer was only just ending, and fall was never too cold in its beginnings here beneath the equator. Still, an odd day of foul weather did little to dampen Mitchell’s mood, because clouds meant less sunlight, and less sunlight meant no sunglasses and very little sunburn stinging his dead skin. So it was with a bright smile and a jaunty tune on his lips that he walked home from his shift at work, the vampire looking forward to a long weekend spent with his lover, probably in the bedroom, definitely with no clothes on. The last thing he expected was to find his diminutive boyfriend surrounded by a pool of blood, black candles flickering on the table, their kitchen shrouded in an unnatural dark light coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

It took only a few seconds for Mitchell to assess the situation, and it left him reeling: Anders was a witch, a powerful one at that, the dark kind, the evil kind, one who wasn’t just a Wiccan practicing in secret. No, Anders was the kind of witch possessed real,  _strong_  magic, the kind that could kill thousands in the blink of an eye and tear the world apart with a spoken word. Slowly, the blonde’s blood-covered hands fell to his sides from where they had been raised halfway up into the air, and with an unnaturally smooth step, he turned to face his vampiric lover. A dark, almost maniacal grin stretched across Anders’ pretty face, and his eyes shone a disconcertingly bright gold, his pupils mere pinpricks amid the shimmering color. He raised a scarlet hand, beckoning Mitchell closer, and the vampire was compelled to obey, stepping into their kitchen like a mechanical toy soldier, one foot in front of the other. He knew he was being controlled, a puppet on a string, dangling from Anders’ red fingers. 

The vampire was pulled to a stop a few feet before the smaller man, his body stiffening before relaxing as Anders’ hold on him loosened, then disappeared. Mitchell stood still, however, with the strange stillness only the dead could have. He knew that he should bolt, he knew that he had to run for his life and pray that Anders would never find him. Witches kept their secrets by hook or crook, killing even the most innocent of bystanders to keep their ancient ways from coming to light. Mitchell knew that he was dead man, that the Men with Sticks and Ropes were only moments away from coming to get his soul when Anders ripped him apart or staked him through the heart. 

"Oh, don’t give me that look, darling…" Anders’ voice was soft and deadly, like a velvet-clad assassin whispering through the night. His tone had shifted too; he sounded old, older than his youthful face portrayed him to be. The wisdom and sorrow of ages flowed through his melodic vowels, a greed and sharp desire punctuating the consonants. Mitchell’s eyes widened, his breath quickening. So it was true: witches were immortal, just like vampires, the only other race that sold their soul to the devil for power. Anders’ sad smile only confirmed his suspicions. 

"Yes, John, I am immortal. Just like you, I was born in a time long before this one, although unlike you, I was born in the year 1650, far to the north, in Finland. My parents and brothers all died there; the men _you_  know as my brothers here are my clan, some of the most powerful witches in all of New Zealand. Ty has an affinity for ice and the cold, Mike for controlling fate and chance, and Axl for raw power and strength. Olaf, well, he’s just in it for the drugs, I’m afraid, he lost most of his interest in the world a long time ago. He is the eldest of us all. And for myself?” He waved a hand around the kitchen, indicating the blood and the darkness. “I am a man of seduction, of blood and sex. I posses the innate ability to control the people around me, as you have felt. Weak-minded fools, most of them, but you…you’re far more interesting than anyone I’ve met in a century at least.”

The blonde stepped closer to the vampire, causing the taller man to tense as his fight-or-flight instincts called him to action. He knew that running would do him no good, and he never turned his back to his enemies. No, he would fight, and he would die with blood on his hands or not at all. Anders raised an eyebrow, smirking at his lover, turning again to fetch a gold and glass cup from the table. It was filled to the brim with dark red blood, the blood of a lion, if he was correct. He knew little of dark rituals, but lion’s blood must be difficult to come by in New Zealand. Anders dipped his fingers in the cup and set it back down, tracing some runes onto the table. 

"There, now we will have some privacy. Wards for protection, for silence…for no trespassing." He turned once again to Mitchell. "I’m sure you have lots of questions, my dear, but first, I have one for you." His eyes twinkled with dark power as he sauntered right into Mitchell’s personal space. "Just how deep does your desire run to remain attached to your humanity?" A bloodstained hand came up to trace Mitchell’s cheekbone, the line of his jaw, down to his lips. "Answer me truthfully, my love. I can tell when you’re lying."

"…You’ve known me long enough to know that my whole life is focused on being human…" Mitchell growled, furious at himself for the shiver of arousal that coursed through him as Anders touched him. It wasn’t just the blood, although that was tempting as it was. No, it was the sheer, raw  _power_  emanating off of the smaller man, the seductive look in his eyes, the almost crazed aura surrounding him. Mitchell couldn’t deny that it was attractive, that his inner monster stirred and reared its ugly head at the thought of all the depravity and horror they could cause together. There were no traces of magic in the air; all of Mitchell’s feelings were his own, and Anders all but crowed in victory as he saw Mitchell’s eyes flash black. 

"Oh, but your eyes tell me differently, John. Your eyes…and your heart." His other hand came up to touch the fabric covering the vampire’s slow-beating heart. Blood seeped into the blue fabric, the shirt staining instantly into the shape of fingerprints. "You  _crave_  it, don’t you? The feeling of being free, of shedding these last vestiges of righteousness, of humanity, of right and wrong. There is no wrong, Mitchell, not for us. We are who we are, darling; why should we deny it? You and I, we are monsters, the both of us. You feed off of humans, and so do I, albeit in different ways. Mine is a little more…clean, shall we say. Less of a mess to wipe up, if you understand my meaning.” A wicked gleam not associated with magic flickered in his eye. 

"…Why are you telling me all this? Aren’t you just going to kill me? Just get it over with…" Mitchell sneered, his eyes challenging Anders to do just that, to strike Mitchell down and send him to his ‘reward’. But Anders merely sighed, as if he were talking to a very stubborn child.

"No, no, no! Don’t you know me at all? Strike that, don’t answer that question, obviously not. You know me a little, but I’ve kept secrets from you, just as you’ve kept secrets from me. Josie, her name was?" Anders sneered. "Pitiful. I would have killed her myself if she wasn’t already dead. Trying to ruin my dear vampire’s darkness, hah! It’s what attracted you to me in the first place, you know, although I must admit, your smile was what I saw first. You have such a lovely smile…" For a moment, the softer side of the witch shone through, true compassion and love filtering through the greed and hatred. Then it was gone, not destroyed, just hidden.

"But we get farther and farther away from the question at hand, John." Anders’ eyes turned blue, all traces of magic gone. He wanted an honest answer, none of his magic interfering, nor any of Mitchell’s fear for his life in the way either. "Humanity has  _wronged_  you, Mitchell. It has torn apart what could be such a beautiful savagery, it has made you hide who you really are, what you’re truly capable of. It’s saddening, seeing such a dark light be captured and hidden away. Cast it aside, John, this cloak of humanity. Embrace your inner monster, as I have, as we  _all_  have! Together, we could cause such beautiful chaos, just the two of us, acting as one!” His eyes shone with manic glee, his hands sliding down to take Mitchell’s.

"Come with me, my love. Leave your fears behind. Give in to the night. Give in to the desire, the darkness, the blood. Join me in the moonlight, in the corners of humanity’s eyes, those dark things that haunt their dreams. Let us be together, forever, with no barriers in between us, no lies and no promises we know we can’t keep. Let me love you as you truly are…" Anders leaned closer, their lips barely an inch apart, their breaths mingling. Long blonde lashes graced a pale cheek. "…Humanity wronged me, Mitchell. It took my family from me, made them hate me, fear me. Humans hunted me, tortured me, tried to burn me. They were afraid of me, though I never did anything to hurt them. So I gave them something to fear…" He snarled, the room going cold. "But here, in you, I’ve found someone who would accept me, who could love me as I am. You have seen what no one else has seen since I was a small child. My heart is cold and black as ice in the night, John, but you…you’ve made me warm again, gave me purpose, gave me  _love_. Please, John…stay with me. Love me, as I love you. Together, we could be unstoppable. Together, we could be  _glorious_!” 

There was no lie in Anders’ words. Even through the shadows that clung to him like a second skin, Mitchell could see the man he fell in love with. A man who was a monster inside, wearing the cloak of humanity just like Mitchell. But even through the blood and shadow, there was a heart that beat only for the vampire, as the vampire’s heart only beat for the witch before him. He still feared Anders and what he could do, but then again, surely Anders must fear Mitchell and all that  _he_ could do as well. Perhaps they  _were_  meant for each other. Perhaps this  _was_  destiny…

"…But…" Anders pulled back slowly, reluctantly. "…if you choose to leave, if you cannot return my love anymore, I will not stop you. I know you can keep my secret, just as I will keep yours. No ill will shall follow you, my love, nor will I allow anyone to harm you while you stay within this country. I trust you, even if you cannot find it in you to trust me in return. The choice is yours, and yours alone, John. I will not influence you in any way…"

This was what clinched it for Mitchell, the fact that even though Anders could very well make a slave out of him, could keep the vampire bound to his side through all eternity as nothing more than a puppet and a plaything, Anders still gave him a choice. Sometimes, he thought, monsters were kinder than humans. Slowly, a dark, evil grin spread across the taller man’s face. He took a deep breath, holding onto his last shreds of humanity, savoring them for a moment…and then he cast them out, like he cast out his held breath. Fuck humanity, fuck morals, fuck right and wrong. He was a monster, he was a fucking  _vampire_ ; rules and laws could go to Hell right along with him. This is who he was now, humanity was long behind him. Together, they could be terrifying. Together, they could be powerful. Together, they could be  _glorious_! 

"I’ll stay with you, Anders, my love." Mitchell’s voice was thick with arousal and desire, a slightly unhinged look in his dark eyes as they faded to black. Anders’ blue eyes shone with a lusty greed as he too shed his humanity, the gold slipping back into his irises as he grinned a feral grin. "Together, forever. You won’t be rid of me now."

"Oh, like I could  _ever_  get rid of you. You belong to me now, Mitchell, as I will belong to you.” Anders crowed with delight, his bloody hands smearing the red liquid all over Mitchell’s face as he grasped his lover’s cheeks. “I love you, John Mitchell.” His voice was soft, his words ringing true; the witch loved his vampire, the two crazed men fitting together perfectly like a broken bone. 

"As I love you." Fangs descended as Mitchell leaned down for a hungry kiss. Fresh blood was spilled between them as Mitchell’s fangs nicked delicate skin. The vampire lapped up the crimson ichor, feeling the brutal power of Anders’ magic tearing through him. He cried out as if in orgasm, the seductive energy coursing through his veins like a fresh kill’s lifeblood. Anders laughed wickedly, the room going pitch black as the candles were blown out by a strange wind. No more words were spoken that night, save for a few curses and cries of each others’ names as they made love on the bloodstained floor. 

They keep their secrets, vampires and witches, through blood and murder and wicked sin. They keep their lovers the same way, through shared blood, shared pain, shared evil, and shared insanity. For Anders and Mitchell, there was nothing forbidden between the two of them; all laws were made to be broken, and rules were merely crushed flowers beneath their feet. Like night-blooming jasmine, they flower under the light of the moon, their heady scent enchanting and enslaving. Humanity cannot see the beauty in it at all, the love and madness shared between the vampire and his witch.

But they’re all weak-minded fools anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Title take from "Seven Devils" by Florence + The Machine.
> 
> I'm sensing a theme here regarding titles and my Britchell fics, aren't you?


End file.
